


The Noose Tightens

by Biggest_Oof



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, And Palpatine found him, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, In which Anakin was left on Tatooine, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Slow Burn, Suitless Darth Vader, and a drink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggest_Oof/pseuds/Biggest_Oof
Summary: They’ve captured a Sith.They’ve captured a Sith, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was not informed of this until last night.Or: Anakin was left on Tatooine, but not for long. Years later, a Sith Lord by the name of Darth Vader is captured, and the Council wants Obi-Wan to crack him. Things only get more complicated from there.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 88
Kudos: 425
Collections: Heartbreak Fics





	1. The Negotiator

**Author's Note:**

> tw: prosthetics, death, implied underage, abuse

They’ve captured a Sith.

The temple is buzzing with anxious energy, younglings and padawans brimming with unwarranted excitement. Clumps of Jedi gather to gossip, hands shaking slightly. Even the Council has a tension to it that could be cut with a knife.

They’ve captured a Sith. Not just any Sith, though, but Darth Vader. Apprentice to Darth Sidious, leading General of the droid armies, a deadly opponent even without his lightsaber. He’d been detained near Hoth, though why he was found there, nobody knows, and his arrival to Coruscant looms over the planet.

Obi-Wan was not informed of any of this until last night, en-route to the Temple and hoping, rather foolishly, that he would manage to get some rest before being shipped back out to the slaughterhouse named the Outer Rim. No such luck, apparently.

That’s not to say that Obi-Wan isn’t happy about all of this. He is, absolutely, but he’d have liked to have been informed the day before both his and Vader’s arrival. Rubbing hand over his face, exhausted, he bids his good nights to the bridge and prepares for what is sure to put him in a mood.

Obi-Wan knows exactly why he was the last to know. He and Vader have a… history, often clashing head to head in dogfights and saber duels. To say that Obi-Wan has resentful feelings towards the Darth is a bit of an understatement.

He’s terrifying. Entire fleets have been decimated by a single fighter squadron when Vader leads it. And that isn’t getting started on his power in the Force, how his kill count ranges in the hundreds. Obi-Wan has lost good men, friends, and resources to the Sith. 

But…

There are very few things anyone knows about Vader. What little they do know, however, paints a grim picture. Firstly, Vader is no more than 21 years of age. His face is covered by a helmet, Obi-Wan only seeing it once, glimpsing hollow eyes and clinging baby fat before being met with a blood red saber.

Secondly, Vader refuses to kill children and slaves. They’d been stationed on Ryloth, taking out a trafficking ring when the Darth was sent to intervene. Upon arriving at the scene, guns blazing, something had glazed over in the Force, and Vader had ordered his troops to retreat, slicing down droids that disobeyed.

Obi-Wan didn’t see him for months after that, and when he did, Vader had a prosthetic arm and leather glove where flesh used to reside.

Finally, Vader is not in charge. That much is obvious, but watching him closely is like watching a rabid loth wolf, chained to its Master, only snarling when approached, ordered by others to go fetch. Vader rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s purring, smooth and vicious, aiming for the jugular. But Obi-Wan knows those words aren’t his own.

When the helmet had fallen, and Obi-Wan had seen his face, all Vader had appeared to be was lost.

So Obi-Wan doesn’t really know which way this predicament will swing. The Council will probably interrogate him, put him on trial most likely. From there, the Senate will most likely sentence Vader to death. Obi-Wan can’t help but agree with that verdict, though, remembering the bodies that once filled the Negotiator’s med bay.

Even if Vader has some redeemable qualities, they’re quite overshadowed by everything else he’s done.

There is still a chance that a deal will be struck. And then, maybe this war will finally end, maybe they can capture Sidious, maybe, maybe, maybe…

Obi-Wan tries not to hope. He’s learned the hard way that it isn’t reliable.

They touch down at the Temple a day later. His palms are starting to sweat, and the constant stream of nerves is getting difficult to release into the Force. Maybe it’s unbecoming, especially for a Jedi, but Obi-Wan can’t find it in himself to care.

Cody, who’s been stoic the entire trip, finally cracks his perfect mask for just a second. He glances over at Obi-Wan, visibly gearing up to speak.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“We’re starting the landing sequences. General Tano and the 501st will be waiting for us when we dock.” Cody pauses, chewing over the words about to come pouring out. “Are we sure it’s really him? Why would he be on Hoth? And how was he captured. None of this makes sense, Sir.”

“I know, Cody, trust me.” He sighs out, “I hate this as much as you do. The important thing is that it is Vader, and it’s possible he’ll cooperate, especially with the strange circumstances of his detainment.”

“I still don’t like it, General.” Cody tells him, lips pulled into a frown.

“Neither do I, Cody. Neither do I.”

-

The sun shines bright as the walkway opens, revealing sunny weather. Technicians and mechanics putter about, tsking at the damage ever present on the Negotiator these days. The atmosphere holds a charged air about it, everyone avoiding eye contact.

In the middle of the hubbub stands Ahsoka Tano, and behind her, Rex.

Obi-Wan hasn’t seen her in a while. She’d been his Padawan, only 15 years old and assigned early on into the Clone Wars. He’d been cautious at first, of her age, how small she seemed, but so uncharacteristically excited, to pass on his lineage to another.

And things weren’t how they should have been. Jedi were meant to be peacekeepers, not soldiers on the front lines, and they certainly weren’t supposed to be throwing padawan learners into the foray. But their numbers were depleting, so the Council made do, and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan taught each other as best as they could in the midst of such carnage.

Ahsoka was incredibly intelligent, feisty, headstrong, everything Obi-Wan both was and wasn’t. On their missions, she could be reckless, but she also pulled battle strategies out of seemingly nowhere. Ahsoka was not a perfect Padawan, but she was a good person, and besides, nobody could blame a child soldier for these behaviors.

And then the Temple bombings happened. Obi-Wan’s had many regrets in his life, but this… this was possibly the worst. Ahsoka and his relationship had been strained for a while, after the Rako Hardeen debacle, but when she was framed, and he did nothing, it broke it.

That’s not to say Obi-Wan didn’t want to. Every time the Council bent to the whims of the Senate he wanted to scream at them. At that farce of a trial, he had nearly leapt out of his seat and strangled Tarkin, and oh, how he wanted to. But if it hadn’t been for Padme Amidala coming in with Bariss Offee and a signed confession at the last minute, Ahsoka would have been executed.

She had left. Obi-Wan didn’t blame her, wouldn’t dare to. Even if his apartments felt emptier after, even if Padme gave him pitying looks whenever they met for afternoon tea, even if Yoda’s ears drooped whenever she came up, he didn’t blame her.

Another year of fighting went by. The Separatists only got more vicious in their attacks, and Obi-Wan found himself always scrambling to stay afloat. More and more innocents died everyday, more and more planets disbanded from the Republic, and this time, he didn’t have Ahsoka.

Somehow, Vader was the one constant in his life. Even when everything else seemed to slip through his fingertips, Obi-Wan could at least count on those mechanized vocal chords and the aggressive Djem So moves.

One of those times was on Nar Shadda, troops falling like dead Toydarians and Vader at the helm, swinging his lightsaber in great arcs, cutting through their defenses like melting butter. The helmet had tilted, and those red lensed eyes had come to rest on his.

Obi-Wan threw himself at the Sith, ordered his troops to retreat. Cody was dragged by Waxer and Boiler kicking and screaming, all of them watching in terror as their General fought an opponent they knew he wouldn’t beat.

Obi-Wan was on his knees, looking death in the eyes, when two sabers rained down upon Vader’s helmet, slicing it to where his face lay naked. It was then that he had seen those empty orbs, gold and drummed with red.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan had fought valiantly, but in the end, Nar Shadda was a failure, and they fell back with decimated numbers and cracked spirits. Ahsoka had been in the area at the time, apparently, and had come to rescue her old Master.

It was then that it was revealed that Savage Opress had found Darth Maul, alive. That Ahsoka wanted to stop him before he razed everything into the ground, including Obi-Wan. She needed some favors, and Obi-Wan was all too happy to provide, both to help his Padawan and destroy Maul.

The Council was less amenable. Ahsoka got her favors, but they came at the cost of Knighthood and an entire battalion behind her that she hadn’t wanted, ordered around like nothing had changed. Their relationship is practically nonexistent, and Obi-Wan knows some part of Ahsoka blames him for her return.

And now, after months away, his Padawan is back, because of the one constant in Obi-Wan’s life. 

Vader.

“Hello Ahsoka, Commander Rex.” He nods towards the Captain as he approaches.

“Hello, Master Kenobi.” Ahsoka’s formality with him never fails to sting.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Allow me to debrief as we walk.” Their little group begins to meander towards the Council chambers, and as they do, Ahsoka begins to inform them of just how big of a problem this entire thing is.

“At approximately 06:00 hours yesterday, Republic cruisers were doing a routine check on the Outer Rim territories. After entering the Hoth system, they noticed a GAR distress signal coming from the planet. When sent to investigate, they found a Seperatsit escape pod and several dead droids.”

A GAR distress signal? What in the world was going on here?

“When they followed a fresh trail of multiple footprints, they discovered… do you remember Rush Clovis?”

“The Senator who turned traitor?” Obi-Wan inquires.

“Yes, him. They found his corpse, frozen over, fatal lightsaber puncture in his right upper intercostal space. And they found Vader, passed out and borderline hypothermic. They put him in secure confinement on board the Cruiser and contacted the Order for help. He was sedated until his arrival on Coruscant, at which point the Council attempted to interrogate him.”

“Key word is tried,” Rex tells him, almost amused. “They had what, five Masters in there? Even Yoda couldn’t completely crack him. And don’t even get us started on the Force Collar.”

“What about it?”

“It barely works on him.” Ahsoka grunts frustratedly, “He’s Force choked three of those five Masters even with it on. Our only secure method of keeping him detained has been to sedate him, or string him up with electromagnetic cuffs sans prosthetic. And even that’s iffy.”

Obi-Wan can’t believe what he’s hearing. Rush Clovis had disappeared off the face of the galaxy, and all of the sudden Separatists had him killed. And what was Vader doing on Hoth? He can’t even begin to process everything else, even the worrying amount of power the Darth holds over the Force.

“And finally, they did a physical. Besides the fact he almost froze to death, everything came back clean. As far as we’re concerned, Vader has a clean bill of health. No drugs, no injuries, not even any body modifications.”

“Then why tell me this?” Obi-Wan asks Ahsoka, who looks grim at the question.

“It’s because of his Midichlorian count. When the healers drew blood, they tested it and… Master, they’re saying he has a count of 20,000.”

Oh kriff. Things just got a lot more complicated.

-

The Council looks harried, which is unusual in itself. That three Masters have braces around their necks is even more so. Sounds like Ahsoka was right. Obi-Wan takes his seat, waiting for some godamn information.

“Master Kenobi,” Kit Fisto starts, “There’s been a great shift of balance, both in the war and the Force. We were hoping you could provide insight to our dilemma.”

“I can hardly provide insight if I don’t know exactly what shift has occurred, Masters.” He tells them, reveling in their barely contained snorts.

“It’s about Vader.” Windu sighs out, grumpy as ever.

“I gathered that much.”

“We weren’t able to gather much when we interrogated him. His physical placed him at 21 years of age, and there’s marks of… past abuses. All he told us was to, and I’m quoting here ‘use the Force to suck our own dicks’.” Mace rubs a hand over his face while he relays this information. “We think you could be the one to crack him.”

“Me?” He asks, eyebrow cocked at the very notion.

“Yes, you. You’re the only one with a connection with him, tumultuous as it may be.” 

“You are not nicknamed the Negotiator for no reason, Obi-Wan.” Plo Koon interrupts gently, “We believe you're the best option.”

“I’ve never had to crack a Sith. And besides, what’s our time limit? The Senate has to be gearing up for a trial, and we all know by the time the verdict comes Vader will already have escaped or be sentenced to death.”

“Right, you are. Limited time, we have.” Yoda, who’s been silent the whole meeting finally speaks up. His eyes are sad. “Resisted interrogation, Vader did. Force him to spill, even I could not. Great suffering, Vader has been through, to become who he is.”

“And you… want me to change that?” Obi-Wan inquires confusedly.

“Young, Vader is. Turned to the light, he can be, with time.”

“But we don’t exactly have time.” Shaak Ti butts in.

“No, we don’t. Those politicians in the Senate will swallow him whole.”

“Need to know more, we do. Talk to Vader, bribe him, if we must.”

“Bribe?” Agen Kolar mutters, “You aren’t suggesting we strike a deal with this Sith, after all he’s done?”

“It may be the only way we can find Sidious.” Obi-Wan realizes. “He hasn’t made any escape attempts? Even with the Force dampener rendered useless?”

“No, he was aggressive. But Vader was also drugged heavily, he could hardly even walk, let alone stand.” Windu says.

“He’s young, you said as much. And besides, the circumstances of his capture lead me to think that he might want out. I think I can strike a deal with him, but I’ll need Yoda and Windu there as backup.”

“Agreed.”

“But, I need you to tell me everything you know. No more red tape, no more secrets. I need every bit of information I can get my hands on.”

“Fine. Fisto will explain, and any clarifying questions will happen after his debrief.”

Fisto stands up, produces a holo projector out of seemingly nowhere. On the projector appears a handsome face, a face Obi-Wan has only seen once. Vader looks tired, deep set bags and a five o’clock shadow visible in the blue tint.

“You already know the basics, Master Kenobi. Darth Vader, codename Krayt. Confirmed as of today to be 21 years old, 6 feet 3 inches tall, 157 pounds. Dark blonde hair, yellow eyes, white, male, human, with a bisected scar over the right eye. Wears a helmet, and has a prosthetic. How he lost his limb is unconfirmed, but the scarring would indicate a lightsaber.

“Vader started appearing about three years ago. His first mission that we know of was the one that resulted in the deaths of 2 Senators, both of whom were outspoken pacifists. From there, he has a confirmed kill count of 789 people, with many more unaccounted for. His technique is primarily Djem So, he works closely with Asajj Ventress, Count Dooku, and Darth Sidious.”

“I know this all already.” Obi-Wan exclaims. 

“Just listen. It’s confirmed that Dooku and Vader have an aggressive and tumultuous relationship, which we could possibly exploit. On his person we found several japor snippets, connecting him to the slave trade of the Outer Rim. He has several markings on his back and torso consistent with whip lashes, cigarette burns, knife and stab wounds, along with several other… unfortunate markings that indicate his Sith training may have not been entirely voluntary.

“And finally, and most importantly. He has the knowledge of every single location of every single Seperatist plot and rank in the galaxy. But, Vader also possesses an uncanny Force presence and resistance. With his M count, overall skill, and Sith training, we believe he may surpass even Yoda’s abilities. Therefore, he’ll be guarded by Jedi the entire time. It also means that nobody in the Senate comes near him, even the Chancellor.”

“You’re certainly not adding much to my limited arsenal here, Masters.”

“There’s one more thing,” Mace looks apprehensive, “Vader appears to have been trained in the art of… persuasion, shall we say. Not all of his missions were terminations, some of them were to convince planets to join Separatists.”

“Which means…”

“Obi-Wan, the nature of some of these manipulations… well, he um, he-”

“What Master Windu means is, Vader will use his body if it gets him results.” Master Ti tells him patiently, swooping in to save a floundering Mace.

“...Oh.”

“Escort you to the cells, Mace and I will.” Yoda mercifully interrupts.

“Of course, Master.”

“Finished, we are?” At the resounding nods he gets, Yoda turns to Obi-Wan. “Leave now, we will. Careful we must be, with Vader. The viper hides in plain sight, hmmm. The key, Vader may be.”

At that cryptic note, heart pounding, Obi-Wan makes off towards the Temple prison, about to interrogate a Sith Lord.

-

The cells are perfectly warm, even underground. But the Force slowly darkens as they descend, a result of housing a darksider in a place meant for the light.

Obi-Wan tries not to scream as they reach Vader’s cell. It’s just all so confusing. This war is a game of sabbac, but the players don’t know their cards and the dealer wears a dark hood. Vader could be their way to take the pot, or he could make them play into the dealer's hand, rigging the entire game from the start.

Marks of abuse. Obi-Wan wonders what those poor healers had found to make even the Council uncomfortable. He’s never seen any of them break composure, not on this level. It’s at times like these that he aches for Qui-Gon or Padme.

She doesn’t take his shit, but she’s a good listener, and it’s always nice to be friends with someone as sharp tongued and witted as you, perhaps even more so.

The temperature drops slowly as they approach Vader. A silhouette is visible over the orange plasma screen, one without an arm and limbs encased in durasteel. It seems they’d pulled out all the stops when seating the Sith.

Vader obviously senses them before they announce themselves. His head, which had been curled into his shoulder as if asleep, jerks up, Force going taut around the room, like a chord underneath a musician's fingers. 

He turns around slowly, almost as if he wasn’t expecting guests. Obi-Wan knows he’s just toying with them though. Vader is one to play with his food before he eats it, it would seem.

Finally, Obi-Wan catches that face for the second time in his life, and oh-

Molten gold pins him where he stands.

A smirk curls around Vader’s mouth, barely sparing Mace and Yoda a glance before sweeping back up Obi-Wan’s frame. The smirk widens to a grin.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Oh kriff.


	2. Adventures in Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan attempts to negotiate with Vader. He isn’t exactly successful. Upon further realizations, backup is acquired, and a plan is put in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: choking, brief mention of death

Obi-Wan shifts on his feet, gaze remaining steady against that Sith gaze. 

“Vader. I must say, the pleasure is all mine. May I sit?” It's a test, one Vader sees right through, if the narrowed eyes are anything to go by. 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, not really. Now,” he continues, pulling up a chair, “I’ve been sent here to see if we can come to an agreement, of sorts.”

“An agreement? With little old me? I’m honored, but I don’t know what I could possibly have that would be of value to you.” Vader purrs. Mace glares daggers from behind Obi-Wan, speaking up for the first time.

“Don’t play dumb with us, Vader. We want to know what happened on Hoth.”

“I’m not playing dumb. I’m just… surprised, shall we say. Surely the Senate is already gearing up for a trial? And now I hear the Jedi want to negotiate. I’m going to assume that the beloved Republic knows nothing of this little bribe, or your failed interrogation? How are your pathetic little Masters recovering?”

Mace growls audibly under his breath, and his fists clench at his sides. Obi-Wan is almost impressed at how quickly Vader managed to crack him, but before it can escalate any further, he intervenes.

“Now, now, gentlemen, there’s no need for such crass conversation. You are correct in guessing that the Senate knows nothing of this, but we consider matters of the dark side under our jurisdiction. We will act how we see fit, and right now, that involves a deal with you.”

“Oh, I like you.” Vader smiles, feral, “Tell me then, Master Jedi. What is the deal?”

“Information. You tell us what we want to know, we lessen your sentence, avoid the death sentence.”

“Hmm, let me think. No.” The Sith deadpans.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan presses.

“I give you anything, and my Master will see to it that I’m eliminated before dawn.”

“You mean Dooku? We could protect you from him.”

“No, not Dooku. Sidious. He knows I’m here, and he will kill me if I spill anything.” 

Interesting. They’ve known for a while that there’s a Sith in the Senate, and Vader’s probing at the Congress and his resistance to a perfectly good deal only confirms it.

“Enter a program, you could.” Yoda speaks up, “Not hopeless, your situation.”

Vader snorts. “You poor fools, you have no idea, do you?”

“No idea of what?” Obi-Wan presses a little harder, grasping at straws.

“Nice try, Kenobi, but I don’t kiss and tell.” Vader smirks, but underneath there’s a fearfulness, like he knows they’re doomed.

“Are you afraid of being hurt, Vader? We can protect you, no matter how powerful your Master is. We have an entire Council of them, after all.”

“You mean the Council that’s currently scattered across the galaxy? Or the Masters, three of which I took down, drugged and Force suppressed? You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not entirely confident in your abilities.”

“Yes, the Council that currently has you detained, with three Masters that you haven’t taken down yet and are ready to go.”

“Was that a threat?” Vader suddenly growls, contemptuous. The Force rings around them in warning.

“All I’m saying is we’ll do what it takes, and that this is a generous offer considering what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done? I’ve barely made a scratch compared to my Master. You should be thankful he’s showing restraint.”

“You’ve killed innocent men.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t. I know the Jedi, and I know you. If I’d been weaponless you’d have struck me down with no hesitation.”

“You’re a Sith.”

“And you’re a Jedi. A peacekeeper on the front lines of a war. Tell me, Kenobi, do you think you’ll win this? Your entire Senate is corrupt, you know it, and the Jedi have tainted themselves with its very presence.”

“It is not our fault we are the ones to take arms, when our Republic depends on us. It was you Separatists who started this war, after all. And at least the Jedi have some sense of backbone.”

“I have more of a backbone than any of your Jedi.”

“And yet you cower behind your Master.” Around them, the Force begins to boil.

“Don’t you dare assume you know what I’ve been through. I do what I have to in order to survive.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? That you’re innocent? You have blood on your hands, Vader, and if you’re not careful, we might have to let the Senate intervene.”

“Stop it.”

“You’re not innocent. You’re a Sith.” He’s said too much. Around them, the Force explodes.

“STOP IT!” 

Obi-Wan is lifted off the ground by an unseen hand, starting to choke. Vader screams and yowls from his position, choking him until Yoda wrangles him into a hold. Mace injects a sedative into the ragging Sith, panting with the effort.

Vader slumps to the floor, out cold.

“Well,” Windu interjects dryly, “That went well.”

-

There’s no bruising on Obi-Wan’s throat when he looks in the mirror. There is, however, a very disappointed Mace Windu staring him down.

“We sent you in there to negotiate, not detonate him.”

“It isn’t like I planned on it.” Obi-Wan huffs out.

“Then why antagonize him?”

“Because it worked.” At this, he pauses, mulling over his next words. “We know more about him now then we did before. We know Sidious is high up in the Senate, and we know that Vader, at some point, was forced into apprenticeship. That gives us another angle to work with.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that he Force choked you, or that you goaded him into physical violence.” Windu explains, veins in his temple looking dangerously close to bursting.

“No, it doesn’t. But we have this: he didn’t say he wouldn’t cooperate because he didn’t deal with the Jedi, he said he wouldn’t because he was afraid of his death. Vader would accept the deal if he thought we could protect him.”

“Right, this is.” Yoda hums, “Careful, we must be. Inform the Senate of our dealings, we will not.”

Obi-Wan looks at the Master, shocked. “But what of the trial?”

“Proceed, the trial will. A time limit, we have. Thirty days, hmm?”

“Thirty days? Master, I can hardly turn a Sith back to the light in thirty years, let alone thirty days.”

“We don’t need you to turn him. Just convince him you’ll protect him, and he’ll come to you like a starving loth cat. Force knows he has the temperament of one.” Mace grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Escort you, we will not. General Tano, and Captain Rex, guard you, they will.”

Obi-Wan swallows down a headache. Not only does he have a time limit, thirty days at that, to crack a Sith, he now has to deal with the barely controlled chaos that is General Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex. Just wonderful.

He says none of this out loud. Instead, he thanks the Masters for their time, bows, and gets the kriff out of dodge before this gets any worse.

That’s until of course, he runs headfirst into Ahsoka on the way to the mess hall. He’s just walking down the Temples corridors, hoping for food, when a body rams into him. Ahsoka looks up at him, just as surprised as Obi-Wan. After a few moments, she collects herself, and offers an olive branch.

“Food?”

“Oh Force, yes.”

They walk together in stony silence. It’s been like this forever now, but the rift between them seems to have only widened with time, and Vader certainly isn’t helping things. 

“... So how did it go?” Ahsoka finally asks.

“Not well, weirdly. He didn’t seem to want anything to do with us.”

“The feeling is assuredly mutual.”

“Oh, and, well, he might have, um, Force choked me.” Obi-Wan squeaks out, bracing for Ahsoka’s fury. She doesn’t disappoint.

“Are you shitting me! You offered him a deal and he forced choked you? What in the kriffing hells happened in there, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Several Jedi look at them accusingly as she rants. 

“As it turns out, Vader doesn’t take well to insults about his moral backbone, or lack thereof.” He responds dryly.

“You insulted. A Sith Lord. About his kriffing cowardice.”

“Yes.”

“And he Force choked you.”

“Indeed.”

“Shit. Did you even get anything good out of it?” Ahsoka hisses, looking for all of the world like she’s the Master and he’s the errant Padawan.

“Of course I got something good out of it. I’m called the Negotiator for a reason you know.” Obi-Wan replies indignantly, as they finally enter the mess.

“Well, what did you get? C’mon, spill.”

“We’ve confirmed Sidious is his Master. And we know now that Vader would most likely cooperate if he thought he was safe from Sidious.”

“Then why isn’t he cooperating?”

“Because Sidious is inside the Senate.” Obi-Wan replies. “And from the looks of it, he’s high ranking. Vader was terrified of him, that much was clear.”

Ahsoka pales. “Does this mean that my trial…”

“Yes. It was most likely rigged from the beginning. Which means that the Sith has immense powers, and that he could easily find out about our operations. That means only the Jedi are to know of our dealings. I’ve been given thirty days to crack Vader.”

“Only thirty?” Ahsoka asks him, shocked.

Obi-Wan nods grimly in reply, as they sit with their trays of food and begin to pick at it. He’s not very hungry all of the sudden.

“You’re going to need all the help you can get, then.” Ahsoka says suddenly. “Rex and I will help.”

“You will?” Obi-Wan questions, head whipping up at her pledge. He hadn’t expected any help with this, let alone with the one he had forsaken.

“Of course I will, Master.” She sighs out, tired. “Beats touring the Outer Rim. And besides, you can’t do this on your own.”

“No, I suppose I can’t.”

“We’ll need someone from the Senate, no matter what. Someone trustworthy, someone who is sympathetic to the Jedi. But I can’t think of anyone who’d fit that-”

“I do.” He interrupts. “I know of a Senator. She’s from Naboo, and is an old friend of ours. I believe she can help.”

They eat the rest of their meal in silence, game plans beginning to set, and depart, one to Rex, and one to the Senator.

It’s been a while since Obi-Wan and Padme had tea, anyway. It’ll be good to catch up.

-

Padme Amidala is the only person that truly scares Obi-Wan. Back when they first met, he’d thought it ridiculous that the Nabooin people had put a fourteen year old girl in such a position of power. He’d complained to Qui-Gon the entire extraction, about how who they were rescuing had to be just another naive little girl playing dress up.

He’d even whined to some of the Queen’s handmaidens, who politely indulged him before shutting him down with precision that reminded him of Satine. Qui-Gon had looked amused, even as he too went behind the Queen’s back in order to salvage parts for the ship.

And then, the switch. Padme Naberrie, one of the few handmaidens Obi-Wan felt he could really confide in, came in a blaze of glory upon the Senate with such poise and regality reserved only for a Queen. The Queen he had bemoaned had been listening, and the way Obi-Wan tremored with shivers for days afterwards was because it was cold in space, not because he was terrified.

And then Qui-Gon had died. Qui-Gon had died, with no thoughts to his Padawan, only to that gutter rat from Tatooine. It hurt more than a lightsaber wound, and Obi-Wan had found himself fluctuating between anger and grief every time he heard his Master’s name.

The Council decided to leave the so-called Chosen One on Tatooine. He was too old, anyway, and Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in himself to carry out Qui-Gon’s last wishes, selfish as it was. He felt guilty for it, but shocked land grief faded that guilt until it was forgotten.

For an entire year, Obi-Wan mourned. He felt untethered, unbalanced, unable to function in a world where he had killed a Sith and his Master had not, had died, instead of guiding him like he was supposed to, and now he had to pick up the pieces and he. Just. Didn’t. Want. To.

It was during one of his days wallowing in self pity that a certain Nabooian came to him. She had looked at Obi-Wan with those uncompromising eyes, solidified her stance, and told him that he looked like bantha shit.

Padme had ushered him to a spa, of all things. The upper levels of Coruscant were full of delicacies and luxury, but with his background, Obi-Wan hadn’t ever been to something that seemed so… indulgent. But maybe that was the point.

He’d had his nails painted for the first time in his life, orange and white with little black flowers dotted on them. Obi-Wan found himself enjoying the patterns, enjoyed the face masks and the opulence of it all, and for a while, he wasn’t swallowed by negativity.

At the end, he and Padme had gone out for tea, and talked.

“I am sorry for your loss, though you’ve probably heard it by now.” She had told him bluntly.

“Thank you. I must admit, I feel better.”

“Good. Now, I think you and I would make wonderful friends, but I don’t want to see anymore of the double faced bullshit you had during the Naboo Crisis. I have enough of that in the Senate.”

Obi-Wan had blinked, slightly dazed at the vulgarity. “Yes. I do regret what I said, and although it may not make up for it, I was under quite a bit of stress. My apologies.”

“Apology accepted. Now, Obi-Wan,” She had grinned somewhat evilly, “ Do you want to know what Orn Free Ta got caught doing in the ladies room this morning?”

He had wanted to know, very much. From then on, they’d had an unbreakable friendship, which leads him here, on her balcony sipping Earl Grey.

“-and then Palpatine said that we had to focus on the war effort, again. Like he’s not the sole beneficiary of this entire mess, honestly. The amount of emergency powers he’s been granted are ludicrous.”

She stops then, as though expecting a response. Shit. “I must say it does concern me at the control he holds over both the Senate and Order.”

“Sometimes I think that nobody actually wants this war to stop.”

“Speaking of which,” Obi-Wan tells her, sensing his chance now, “I interrogated Vader today.”

“Oh?” She replies, cocking an eyebrow, “And why was the Senate not informed?”

“I think you know why; we can’t trust them, they’ve become too corrupt.”

“I hate that I agree with you. Why tell me then?” Padme asks, catching on quickly to what he’s about to ask her.

“Because I need your help. Vader isn’t going to crack with just me, and we need your political savvy if we want to get anywhere with him. Please, Padme.” Obi-Wan half begs her.

“I can’t. I’m already part of the trial. I have a key role, gathering evidence.”

“And if we crack him, we’ll have plenty of evidence to gather, won’t we?”

“Have I ever mentioned that you’re incredibly pretentious? Because you assuming I’m on board with any of this is very pretentious.”

“Well, are you on board?”

“... Yes.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan gives her a winning smile. “Because Rex and Ahsoka already bet money on the fact I couldn’t convince you.”

Step one of their half assed plan worked. Now they just need to wait for the Senate’s official statement, and for the trial to commence.

Thirty days.

-

He wakes up to the sound of his comm beeping frantically. Scrubbing his eyes, Obi-Wan lurches from his bed and stumbles to the kitchen, to the spruce of his wake up call.

“ ‘lo?” Obi-Wan grates out, throat gravelly from sleep.

“Master Kenobi,” The Chancellor replies, grandfatherly tone invading his ear drums. “I would love it if you could visit, give me a report on our… current situation.”

Obi-Wan groans internally. Of course Palpatine had to come at the crack of dawn just to get a verbal report on a topic he probably knew more about than him.

“... Give me thirty minutes. I’m on my way, Chancellor.”

He promptly hangs up, and starts to struggle his way into the tabards and leggings of his outfit. After combing back his hair and swigging down some Cad, he races to the Chancellor's office, grumbling under his breath the entire way.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Palpatine but… he doesn’t like Palpatine. The man has always put Obi-Wan’s teeth on edge, more so than even those most scummy Senators. His very presence feels oily, but with no evidence and the man’s benevolent ways, Obi-Wan tends to brush it off.

Today, however, is a different story. As long as Obi-Wan has known the Chancellor, his office is neat, today, not a single speck of dust to be found. In comparison, his office now looks like the aftermath of a raging bantha, and Palpatine himself looks like he hasn’t slept for days.

“Chancellor?” He questions, almost nervous at whatever this is.

“Master Kenobi! I’m sorry about the state of this room, but unfortunately, some people do not take being fired easily.” Palpatine pants out, like he’s been exercising. Odd.

“It’s no problem at all, Chancellor. Now, about Vader? What do you need to know?”

“I need to know if he’s said anything.” Palpatine tells him, “It would certainly help both the trial and the war if we knew any plots to take the Republic.”

“No, sir, I’m afraid not. He Force choked three of the Masters who even tried. I’ve never seen someone as powerful as Vader.”

“Hmmm,” Palpatine mutters, looking almost manic, “Are you sure he didn’t say anything? Nothing we can use?”

“No. We only know that he’s connected to Sidious, but we still have no clue of who or where he is.”

“Alright then. I expect updates on Vader daily. You don’t have to personally report, but I do like to know what’s happening in my Republic.”

“Of course, Chancellor. Anything else before I take my leave?”

“No, no. It seems that you have enough on your plate. And besides, everything is going well, considering the… altercation of plans.” Palpatine says kindly, but there’s a relief in his voice that Obi-Wan can’t put a finger on. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on the Chancellor.

“If that’s all then. Good day Chancellor.”

“Good day, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan strolls out, oblivious to Palpatine screaming in rage when he leaves, continuing to swing his saber, blood red, destroying his office. He doesn’t notice that Palpatine’s eyes had bled yellow for just a moment. He doesn’t notice the fracturing in the Force. He doesn’t have the time to.

Obi-Wan only has thirty days, and he intends to use them.

Step two: assembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, gals and non-binary pals. I have an update schedule now. New chapters will be posted at least once a week, usually on Fridays.
> 
> In other news, I am in love with Padme Amidala.


	3. Interlude: Anakin Skywalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after Qui-Gon and Padme leave with their new hyperdrive, the shadow man comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: semi-graphic death, physical abuse, electrocution, gaslighting, isolation, non-graphic rape, vomiting, choking
> 
> It’s a dark one folks. The rating has officially gone to M.

A month after Qui-Gon and Padme leave with their new hyperdrive, the shadow man comes. He’s draped in all black with the hood over his head, as he strides into Watto’s junk shop like he owns the place. Anakin doesn’t like the way he feels, like leaking oil and heat stroke.

Qui-Gon is dead, Anakin knows. He had felt it, a burning heat piercing in his chest only to vanish completely, gone cold. The Jedi have not come for him. Neither has Padme. Qui-Gon had left to tell some Council about him, told Anakin he’d free and train him once he could return.

And now the shadow man is here.

Watto buzzes over to the counter, grumbling the entire way. Anakin tries to keep his head down, keep working. Watto doesn’t like useless things in his shop, which he finds weird considering what Watto sells. Arguing that point had earned him 20 lashes, though, so he hasn’t brought it up again.

The figure seems to stare at him, a hard gaze that Anakin hates. It’s the gaze he knows well, the one that analyzes, searches, tells him exactly how much he’s being sold for. A blanket of panic falls over him, and he knows something is horribly wrong.

“What ya want?” Watto grumbles at the dark figure.

“I was told a boy named Anakin Skywalker works here. I want him.” The man growls out, sounding like he has a cold. But he can’t focus on that when the words send shivers down Anakin's spine.

The dark creature wants him.

“Kid’s not for sale. He’s too good at what he does. I already had one of your kind try to free him.”

“I am not a Jedi.”

“What are you, then?” Watto gruffs, blunt as always. Around Anakin, something darkens, suffocates him. The shadow man scares him, enough that his body starts to walk away despite what his mind tells him.

“I,” the figure seethes, drawing a black pit around himself, “Am a Sith.” Watto is lifted even further into the air, choking on nothing, and Anakin runs, sprints to his mom, who makes sure he’s safe, always. He hears a thud in the distance as Watto’s presence goes cold.

The shadow man has killed his Master. And now, he’s coming for Anakin.

He races through the streets of Tatooine, bumping into moisture farmers and slavers and bounty hunters, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Their slave quarters draw nearer and nearer as Anakin’s bony legs pump up and down.

“Mom!” He screams out, terrified, “There’s a man at Watto’s! He just killed him! And- and he wants me mom! He’s coming, we need to-”

“Woah, woah, Ani.” Mom soothes, “What happened?”

“There was a man. He wanted to buy me, but Watto said no, and the man, he killed him without using anything! And now he’s coming for us, and we need to go mom, now, before he takes us!”

Mom pales, and her hands start to tremble like they did back when they were Gardulla’s, and she had to take the night shift. She crouches down to Anakin, smooths back his hair.

“Ani… I need you- you need to run sweetie. Don’t wait for me, just run. Go as far as you can, and, and please don’t come back, okay? That man… he’s going to want to hurt us. So I need you to leave, Ani, and I’ll handle this.”

“Mom, no, where would I go? I'm not leaving you.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Ani. He will want to use you, honey, more than all of our Masters. He’s- I’ve tried to protect you, but this day has been coming for a long time. Now please, run, go!”

“Mom, please…” Anakin begs. He doesn’t want to leave Mom, not when she’s so scared of this man.

“ANI, GO!”

Mom is yelling now, and Mom never yells. She’s always been quietly brave, so to see her be loud frightens Anakin. This man will hurt them, and she’s just trying to make sure Anakin gets away in time, no matter the cost. The thought spurs him to action.

He starts to turn around, tears streaming down his face, Mom pushing him towards the door, the blaster she hides under her pillow in hand. Anakin breaks out sprinting, and it’s like there’s sirens in his head that tell him to move, but he moves straight into…

He moves straight into the shadow man.

“Hello, young one,” the creature sneers, “I've been looking for you.”

“Ani!” Mom cries, panicked, brandishing the blaster wildly, “Leave him alone! I don’t know what you want-”

“You know exactly what I want.” The thing tells Mom, grabbing his shoulder. “You have a very gifted son, Miss Skywalker. He will serve my purposes well.” As Anakin attempts to wriggle out of his grip, it only grows tighter, to the point of pain.

Mom starts shooting. They’re attracting attention now, but it’s like there’s a bubble around them, forcing everyone to move on with wide eyes. They just stare and watch as Mom’s blaster shots freeze in midair, and Anakin lifts off the ground, struggling against an invisible force, the Force,

“Please, don’t take him! I’ll do anything, please don’t take my baby, please!” Mom sobs, tears overflowing her pretty face. The man grins from under the hood, breath rancid.

“Don't you worry, Miss Skywalker, you’ll be joining us. I’m sure that in time, we’ll all know each other plenty. Now, come quietly or,” the creature tightens his fist and Anakin starts to choke, “I kill your son, and leave you to rot.”

Mom frantically reaches for him, but Anakin's suffocating only increases. After a few moments of his choked noises in an otherwise silent atmosphere, she concedes, blaster lowering onto the ground, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Fine. Now please, let him go.”

A rush of air returns to his body, but he’s too weak, death still clinging to his bones. It’s the only excuse he gives himself later, recovering from asphyxiation in the cold of space. Anakin thought he would like leaving Tatooine, but he knows where he’s going will only harbor more pain.

Mom clings to him in the brig of the shadow man’s fancy ship, cradles his baby fat, and hugs him close, whispering to Anakin that everything will be fine, that they’ll make it out. He doesn’t have the heart to correct her. They shiver in turns from the cold, in shock, and Anakin can’t help but hate the Jedi who promised him everything and gave him this.

Anakin tries to keep his fear and hatred in check, but it gets harder as they near another planet, and the creature hauls him away from Mom, kicking and screaming. The onyx hallways he’s marched down are never ending, until they reach a room, his room, and the man throws Anakin to the dark, only a narrow window and a thin mattress to keep him company.

Watto is not his Master anymore. The shadow man is.

-

A slap echoes around the room and across Anakin’s face, a stinging pain soon following. Sidious (what a stupid name) draws back his wrinkly hand, as though disgusted with the thought of touching Anakin.

Anakin can’t help but feel grateful that the Sith is touching him at all. He hasn’t seen Mom in weeks, hasn’t seen anyone. They’ve kept him in his room, shut in the pitch black, and now Anakin is just relieved that another person is even here.

“You know what my name is, boy. Now say it.” Sidious snaps. No, he’s not going to call anyone Master. Sidious is Sidious, not sir or my Master or any of the things he wants to be called. 

“No.” 

Another slap is jerked across his face. But Anakin has survived much worse, and he has to be strong for Mom. He knows that she’d want him to stand up for himself.

“Say it. I will not ask again.” There’s a warning in Ma- Sidious’s voice, but he ignores it, gritting his teeth against the backdrop of isolation and pain. He will not give in. Anakin of all people knows that as soon as you give any ground, soon you will have none left.

“Kriff. Off.”

“Fine. If you truly desire the hard way of doing things, we will do it the hard way.” Sidious remarks silkily. “Bring her in, Tyranus.”

A tall slender man enters the room. He’s well dressed, on the older side, with yellow eyes, and a menacing disposition in the Force. Behind him, dragging her feet and limping, is… Mom. 

Oh no.

“Now, Anakin, since you’ve decided to be so difficult, your mother is going to pay the price. This is how it will go: you will do as I say, or she dies a very slow death by detonation.”

It’s not like Anakin has forgotten about the chips. It’s just, while he’s been slowly going insane in that darkened room, he’d neglected to think about the fact that he’s still enslaved. It feels different from any bondage he’s known before, so much more amplified and steeped in pitch black, and his only defense was resistance.

Mom is paying the price for his stupidity. Sidious grins as the pieces in Anakin’s mind click into place. There’s a reason Mom had to go with him. She’s the bait for whatever Mas- the Sith is trying to accomplish. If he doesn’t obey, Mom dies, or is tortured, raped... 

The decision is easy to make.

“Please,” he whispers, “Don’t harm her.”

“Oh, my dear Anakin, while I appreciate the sentiment, it’s too late for that. Tyranus, show our guests how disobedience is treated here.”

The man, Tyranus, holds out his arms in a practiced stance. Out of his hands pours lightning aimed directly at his mother. She screams, louder than he’s ever heard her scream before. White light races up her body as her back bows under the pressure.

“MOM! NO, PLEASE, DON’T HURT HER, PLEASE!” Anakin pleads on deaf ears. Sidious cackles as his mother is tortured, and hatred bubbling up beneath Anakin’s skin. He can only stand helpless, though, as the lightning finally tapers off and Mom crumples to the floor, shivering.

Anakin feels hot tears streak down his face. He desperately hopes Mom is still alive, please, let her be alive. He feels the Force tremble around him, but he can’t control it, can’t do anything.

“Please. I’ll do whatever you want, but please… she’s just my mother.”

“Precisely, my boy. Now, what is my name?”

“Master.” 

The word tastes like ash on his tongue. He knows that soon it’ll be the only name he remembers Sidious by.

-

It starts slowly. Master tells him about the Jedi, their ways, and how they betrayed him. He tells Anakin how Qui-Gon had made his case, but after his death, nobody wanted to bother training a chosen one who was better off undiscovered, unable to be tempted by the dark.

The irony is palpable. 

Then, it becomes more. Master will come back every couple of days, and tell him of all the Council’s moves. He tells him that Qui-Gon’s Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi is dear friends with Padme Amidala, tells him she hadn’t thought twice about the little slave boy on Tatooine. That they must laugh at him, mock him, for how naive he was.

Master sows the seeds of an infection, and everyday it spreads, hate festering in Anakin’s very bones. The Jedi have abandoned him, damned him to this fate, where his only escape is training. That, at least, he’s good at, he can tell from Master’s raised eyebrows when Anakin exits the sparring ring, victorious.

He’s allowed to visit Mom every once in a while. Anakin’s secured her safety for the time being, and she honestly looks better than he does. It gets harder with every visit though, when most of the time Anakin feels empty and Mom always cries when she sees him.

He tells himself that he’s protecting her. It feels hollow.

-

The door finally creaks open for the first time in what must be days. A sliver of light pierces through Anakin’s head, as he curls away from it, unused to brightness. The fresh air and warmth of outside slowly suffuses him, and he shivers from them.

“Why must you make me do this to you, my dear apprentice?” Master’s voice rings loud, too loud in his ear, “You must know that such petty resistances are futile.”

“M sorry, Master.” Anakin slurs out, throat parched from lack of water. 

“I know you are, apprentice. Now, what have we learned from this little escapade?”

“Don’t talk back to your superiors, don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t disobey a direct order.” Anakin recites, monotonous. All he had done was snap at Tyranus, and really, it wasn’t his fault, because he was so tired and they still weren’t letting him sleep.

A growing part of his mind hisses about excuses, weakness.

“Correct. Now,” Master continues, malice honeying his words, “You’ve almost completed your punishment. However, there’s one thing you need to do first.”

“What, Master?”

“Lord Tyranus was most displeased at your… outburst. He has demanded that you duel him, to show you how misguided you were in your comments.”

Ice pours down Anakin’s spine. Nevermind the fact that he hasn’t eaten, slept or drank in days, Tyranus has already humiliated him in practice several times. His muscles clench up at the very thought of the Sith’s lightning.

“No… please no.” He whimpers, while the back of his mind whispers weakweak weak.

“Yes, Anakin. It did not have to be this way, but you need to learn. Now come here.” Master’s tone is almost sympathetic, but he’s been here long enough not to fall for it. Instead, Anakin wrenches himself off of the ground and prepares for his trouncing.

He follows Master down the ornate halls to the dueling room. While they walk, or in his case, stumble, Anakin thinks of all the things he knows about Tyranus. Studies Makashi, elegant, cunning, beautiful footwork, hailed as one of the greatest duelists in the Jedi Order…

Anakin is losing his shit. Tyranus is ancient, and he’s only twelve years old. He’s just so kriffing tired, and now dread is building in his stomach like bile, oh Force, he can already feel the lightsaber slashes.

The Sith is standing in his opening position when they come in, looking most displeased at the very thought of Anakin beating him. Something tells him that Tyranus wasn’t the one who demanded this duel, but that Master did. Not a test of prowess, but more how long Anakin remains on both feet.

Anakin trembles his way into the opening for Djem So, his preference for combat. He swings at Tyranus, who dodges easily, slashing back down at him in return. And they’re off, parrying and ducking back and forth.

Tyranus is so clearly playing with his food, hasn’t gone for a decisive offense at all, and even still, Anakin feels lightheaded. The process of keeping one foot in front of the other drains him, but he can’t give up, it’ll be so much worse if he does. 

Tyranus twirls his saber to meet his, and the force behind finally matches the ferocity of the dark lord. Anakin is quickly on the back foot, retreating across onyx floors while Tyranus rains blows down on him. He doesn’t have the energy for Artaru, and he needs a swift defense, so he turns to Soresu.

It’s minutes of Anakin’s sloppy deflections and Tyranus’s deadly strikes, of the way his body screams at him to give up, please. He doesn’t, even as his lungs feel removed and his brain holds on by a string, Anakin endures.

Soresu has never been his strong suit, so it’s no surprise when six minutes in, the Sith finds a weakness in his form. The blood red saber comes down, tears at his left shoulder, dragging down. Anakin grunts from the pain, tears welling in his eyes. They play at sparring for another minute before another strike comes, this time from calf to thigh.

Anakin collapses, gritting his teeth as the lord above him sneers in disgust. He’s fading, and fast, but he has one final chance. He swipes at Tyranus, landing a barely noticeable hit on the man’s hip. The Sith stops in shock, before Force grabbing Anakin’s saber and pumping him with lightning.

Between the smell of burning and the tears, Anakin thinks he hears Master laughing. After that, he blacks out.

He’s allowed to rest afterward, Master happy with how long he withstood Tyranus. He gets a full 9 hours of sleep before he’s rushed back to training, nevermind the injuries of the spar. But Anakin gets food and water, sleeps with a blanket for the first time in months, and something in him howls in satisfaction at the shock on Tyranus’s face, when Anakin landed a hit.

He cannot disobey him again. The healing scars on his shoulder and thigh only remind him of it.

-

Sometimes he likes to imagine what life would’ve been if Qui-Gon had taken Anakin with him. The reasoning at the time is that he’d be safer on Tatooine, no Naboo Crisis or prophecy. But occasionally, he dreams of blue waters and golden fields.

Padme often visits in these dreams. Anakin is thirteen now, brittle and bony from the strict regimen and lack of food (only worthy apprentices get to eat. Food is earned, not given freely). She walks on silver strands of air, brown eyes sad at the person he’s become.

Qui-Gon will occasionally make an appearance. It’s usually only when Anakin has been damaged beyond immediate repair, when he lies on the cold table of the examination room, bruised and seizing from the lightning. He’ll smooth back Anakin's unruly locks, tell him to hold on just a little longer, like he hasn’t already let go.

And then there’s Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin never met him, but what he knows of the man is his annoying accent and ginger blond hair. When he is plagued by ghosts of his past, it’s often Kenobi that frequents his dreams, slightly out of sight, whispering.

Anakin can’t help but hate all of them. Qui-Gon for dying, Padme for promising something she had no plans of fulfilling, and Obi-Wan for abandoning him. Master tells him it’s natural to feel this way, that the dark side is fueled by such emotions.

They’re supposed to make him strong. They only make him long for something more than empty halls.

-

Distantly, he notes, there are tears tracking down his cheeks. It’s like Anakin's body has disconnected from his mind, leaving him floating above in third person. He looks back up at his Master, who nods. He has to do this, or face the consequences.

In front of him is a Zabrak man, with wrists tied behind his back and slumped in the corner of the cell. Master had brought him down here, almost impatient, telling Anakin he’d advanced to a new stage in training. It was made clear very quickly what this training was.

Anakin has been tasked with the execution of the Zabrak.

“No, no, please have mercy…” the prisoner whimpers, as Anakin slowly pulls out his lightsaber. “I have children-”

“What is he in for, Master?” Anakin questions, stalling.

“It doesn’t matter, apprentice. What matters is that I’ve asked you to kill him, and so you will.”

“But he-”

“I will not ask again, Anakin. Kill him, or I kill your mother.” Master threatens, knowing exactly how to pull his strings.

He pulls in another shaky breath, and ignites his saber. He watches from above as his body moves towards the man, slowly, deaf to the pleas growing more and more frequent. The man may have children, but he has a mother, one he needs to protect.

The Zabrak’s death is quick. One clean puncture with his saber, and the man goes silent, a cauterized hole in his chest cavity, smoking from the heat.

Behind Anakin, Master grins. “Good, my boy, very good. Your mother lives another day. I believe such commitment deserves a visit.”

Relief washes over him in a pleasant wave, even as his hands tremble. How dare he be so excited to see Mom, when he just… he just…

It hits him. Anakin just killed someone. 

He’s guided by Master, hazy and unfocused, to the rooms where Mom lives. He can’t even feel happy he’s seeing her for the first time in months, not when he just killed a man, who begged Anakin not to hurt him and he did.

Master leaves him at the door of his mother’s bedroom, security cameras blatantly placed all over the quarters. He knocks once, twice, and then she’s there, wrapping him in her arms. Mom smooths back his hair, noting the vacant look in his eyes.

“Ani, honey, what happened?” 

“He made me- he made me kill someone, Mom.” He tells her, voice hoarse.

“Oh sweetheart…”

She crushes Anakin into her, drags him to her bed and cradles him. Anakin just floats, miserable and disassociated, while Mom does all the crying. Not for the first time in his life, he wants to die. It would be so much easier, and his mother wouldn’t have to agonize over him anymore.

“Why did he make me do it, Mom?” He whispers, “Why did he want me to kill that man?”

“I don’t know, Anakin, I honestly don’t.” Mom sighs, tired circles under her eyes. “Did he… threaten you?” They know by now that the security cameras don’t have audio, an odd oversight on Master’s part, but even then, they don’t risk much talk that could be seen as rebellious.

“No, not me this time.” He replies, shaking his head. “Master said that if I didn’t- he’d have blown your detonator. I can’t let that happen.”

“Oh, Anakin.” Mom repeats, eyes welling up.

“What? I can’t let him kill you, not when it’s my fault we’re here in the first place. I just… I know Master’s gonna make me do it again, and I don’t want to, but when I- when I killed the man, I didn’t feel anything.” He mutters the last part, hoping she doesn’t hear.

“Firstly, Anakin,” Mom tells him, eyes stern, “None of this was your fault. Sid- your Master is a powerful man, he would’ve gotten to you even if I hadn’t been there. Secondly…” she trails off, “Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t feel anything.”

“Mom?” He’s confused by her words. Why would she not want Anakin to feel anything?

“Listen, Ani, you and I both know that he’s going to make you kill again. So maybe it’s for the best that you feel nothing. I know that’s a grim outlook, sweetheart, but I think… that might be the only way you’re still intact by the end of this.”

“There will be no end of this, though.” He tells her, distraught. Mom is making sense, but she sounds nothing like the woman from Tatooine who helped anyone and everyone. She sounds so much more broken down.

“Anakin, darling, one day you’re going to have to choose your path. You’re going to have to decide, without your Master or me, whether you want to do good, or stay here. There will be an end to this, but until then, I don’t give a shit what you have to do as long as you survive.”

For the second time in his life, Anakin is shocked by his mother’s words. He nods his head, tells her he’ll remember, that he’ll survive, and soon he’s marched back to his dark and damp room with the window, her words echoing in his brain.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is the prisoner’s lifeless ones staring at him.

-

Anakin has his first mission at fifteen. It’s more of a field test than anything, but he’s been cooped up for too long in this palace, and his Force abilities almost rival Tyranus at this point. So Master sends him to Hosnian Prime with order to find and kill a Jedi Knight who’s grown close to discovering exactly what Chancellor Palpatine is.

His name is Trabem Drelat. He’s handsome, tall, practices Shien, and is known for arresting many a seedy Senator. He’s also known for being… seduced by his baser functions. The only reason the Order keeps him around is because he’s good in combat and even better at sniffing out criminals.

They can use all of this to their advantage. Master tells him that the point is to kill him, but it’s also to do it in a way that won’t cause suspicion. He rants on about how the mission is very important, that Anakin must follow through, no matter what is asked of him. It’s when Anakin sees the materials provided that he realizes why. 

It’s okay, though, because it means he isn’t beaten for a week leading up to his task, and he’s fed more than ever before (men don’t find protruding ribs attractive). He trains endlessly, practicing defenses against dual wielders, working on slipping drugs into glasses without being noticed.

It’s unfortunate, but he’s been trained for this kind of work. Master said he needed a “well rounded education” and Tyranus remarked that he was finally good at something. Anakin got a week in isolation for punching and breaking the Sith’s perfect jaw.

But he still had to learn how to get people to like him, how to extract information through more sultry means, and honestly, coming from Tatooine, where slavers had always called him pretty, he’s just surprised this particular torture hasn’t come sooner.

As night falls over Hosnian Prime, Anakin shadows Drelat to some seedy club called Lonnie’s situated neatly between a liquor store and a Casino. He scoffs, typical of the Order to allow such filth to permeate their ranks. Hypocrites, the lot of them.

He scopes out Drelat as the man attempts to flirt with the staff and patrons alike. Both lightsabers are still attached at the hip, but a drunk man is a clumsy one, and from the way the Jedi is throwing back the drinks, it’s almost too easy. Anakin watches from his perch on a barstool as the man drains shot after shot, getting handsy with the bartender after only a couple drinks.

A lightweight. Oh joy.

Finally, an hour in, Anakin makes his move. Getting up from his table, he saunters over to the bar, drug concealed in his pant pocket. Sliding across in a seat a couple over from Drelat, Anakin orders a Martini, sliding over his fake I.D when asked for one. He can feel the Jedi’s eyes on him.

Resting his cheek in the palm of his hand, Anakin pretends to spare a glance at Drelat before looking back away. The man palpably shifts in his chair, Force presence heated. When the bartender comes back, he’s informed that his drink has been paid for.

Gotcha.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re sitting alone.” A voice calls behind him. Anakin plasters on a grin, turning slowly to face the Knight.

“Thanks for the drink,” he replies, “I must say, I’m rather lonely over here. Join me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Drelat lays it on thick. The man is absolutely dreadful at small talk, somehow even worse at flirting. Anakin can hear himself grinding his teeth while he takes a sip of his drink. He can’t wait for this to be over.

At some point, a friendly face comes to greet the man, and Anakin, seeing his opportunity, slips the poison in the Knight’s drink. Apparently their information was correct; Drelat is a frequent patron here.

He leans across the man’s shoulders, draping himself to mutter in his ear, acting breathy and excited at what exactly he’s proposing. As expected, the man immediately agrees, stopping to down his drink in one go, before making their way to the hotel where the Knight is stationed.

“I can’t ‘lieve I forgot to ask, but what’s yer name darlin’?” Drelat slurs, clumsily making his way to the suite.

“It’s Kado,” Anakin giggles, “What’s yours?”

“Mmmm… Trabem.” 

“That’s a nice name.” They fumble slowly into the apartment, Drelat sloppily kissing his neck. Anakin leads them to the couch, enacting all the lessons he was taught, waits for the poison to settle in.

It takes three minutes for the Jedi to stop breathing. He waits for about a minute, in case the man makes a miraculous recovery, then slides his hand down to check for a pulse. There is none.

Pulling on his clothes, Anakin composes himself before walking back to the door. It’ll look like the man overdosed, and considering his alibis for the night, the story will match. Anakin is about to leave when he feels a pair of eyes on him.

Standing in the corner is a young Jedi, a Padawan to be exact. She stares at her Master’s corpse, then back up at him.

“What did you do to him?” She whimpers.

“What I had to.” Anakin reaches down towards his concealed saber, thoughts going a mile a minute.

“But why-”

“How much did you see?”

“I saw enough,” the Padawan growls, meekness gone in place of anger. “You killed him.”

“Please don’t make me do this.” He whispers, “I don’t want to kill a child.”

“A Jedi against some gutter whore? I think I know who wins.” She sneers, hatred destabilizing her even as she draws her lightsaber. Anakin doesn’t want to do this. He will anyway.

“Oh, kiddo. I’m many things, but a gutter whore..” Anakin tells her, igniting his blood red saber, “Is not one of them.”

It takes seconds. The Padawan is relatively new, which must have been why the information was shoddy. Take that and the fact Anakin has trained for years, all it takes is three parries and jabs, before she’s impaled.

The kid slumps over, eyes widened. She whimpers, before her presence grows cold. Anakin places her next to Drelat, before stabbing him with her saber, directly in the brain. He then places the saber into the Padawan’s hands.

The holo news calls it a devestating murder suicide. The Senate calls it an atrocity, all eyes focused on the Jedi Order, who stiffens their views on attachment even more. What happened was a result of untamed emotions, they say, not knowing how wrong they are.

Anakin doesn’t care about any of this. He’s too busy vomiting up bile in the palace’s refresher.

-

He goes on many missions over the years. Sometimes he kills, sometimes he gets information Master needs, sometimes he pulls supporters to the Seperatist cause. Anakin is good at what he does, but often, when he’s not training or doing Master’s dirty work, he’s refusing to get out of bed.

That’s not to say that he sleeps. No, Anakin doesn’t sleep, just stares at the black ceiling of his tiny room. He hears voices sometimes, of those he’s killed, and occasionally he’ll feel their hands creeping down his skin, ruining him.

At least Master’s happy with him. Anakin beat Tyranus the other day, and had ended up Force choking the Sith until he conceded. Master says that his presence in the Force is strong, that he needs to start concealing it. Anakin just does what he’s told, going through darksider techniques listlessly.

His eyes are turning yellow. He’s only seventeen. 

So Anakin continues on, feeling nothing, except for the sparse visits with Mom. She doesn’t cry anymore, but the sadness in her eyes reveals how much she wants to. When they get together, she tells him stories of Tatooine and Ar-Amu and Ekkreth. They carve japor snippets and trade them when they see each other.

Every time Anakin kills someone, when he can, he tells her. Mom always tells him what she had back when it had first started: do what you need to do to survive. Neither of them get beaten much anymore, even though Mom stills trembles with electricity and Anakin aches when it rains.

They soldier on.

What Anakin hadn’t exactly expected was the all-encompassing hatred. Maybe he should have, with the way Master always is rambling on about the powers of the dark side, how anger makes you strong. Anakin doesn’t feel strong, though.

A short list of things that Anakin Skywalker hates more than anything:

-Lord Tyranus. Smug sleemo can’t even hold his own against a seventeen year old, but still acts like said seventeen year old is beneath him. Whenever Anakin sees him, he thinks of Mom and how he hurt her, and his blood starts to boil.

-The astromech on his (Master’s) ship. Goldy barely functions even with all the repairs Anakin’s given him. He misses Artoo and Threepio more than anything but he’d given both to Padme. Kriffing Padme. Speaking of which:

-Padme Amidala. Anakin’s allowed to watch holo news that Master approves of now, and everyday it seems that it’s about Amidala’s humanitarian efforts. Padme this, Padme that, all while he sits and seethes at what she left him to become. How dare they call her idealist, when she didn’t even bother to free two slaves that housed her, fed her?

(What Anakin refuses to admit is that particular loathing comes from abandonment. That the woman he dared call an angel left him to rot, that he was so stupid to think, only for a second, that she cared for him.)

-Last, but certainly not least: Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Knight is always hindering Master’s plans, which means that Master gets angry, which means that Anakin doesn’t get to eat for an entire day. There’s a similar anger with him like with Padme, but he didn’t know Kenobi as well.

Anakin hates, and hates, and hates, and when he’s done hating all that is left for him is melancholia. 

-

“You have done well, my apprentice.” Master drawls.

“Thank you, Master.” Anakin replies, kneeling before him in the testing chambers. 

The last couple of weeks have been awful. Master had declared him ready for his Sith trials, which, while somewhat relieving to hear, still brought dread to Anakin’s stomach. What ensued was days of torture. Master has had him starve, whipped, fed mild poisons, and made him fight through it all.

Anakin’s spite was the only thing that sustained him. He killed those who hurt him, even when he could barely stand. All it takes is the clenching of the fist, at this point. And it had felt good, like it had felt all those years ago when he landed a hit on Tyranus.

Now, he waits. Either Master names him, or decides he isn’t ready, and leaves him to be “corrected”. Anakin would be sweating if he wasn’t so dehydrated. He doesn’t look up at Master, but he can feel the glare he’s given.

“There is one last thing I require, Anakin, before I name you.” The Sith tells him, voice dripping with deception. Fear pools in his belly at the words.

“What is it you require, my Master?”

“You will see. Tyranus! Bring her in.”

He feels her before he sees her. He would know that Force signature anywhere, it’s been with him his entire life. His mother is here, gagged and bound, and she’s terrified.

What is going on?

“In order to be a Sith, you must abandon who you were. Everything that goes you to Anakin Skywalker, everything that you thought yourself to be… must be eradicated, if you are to become a Darth.”

“What do you mean, Master?” Something isn’t right here. The pieces slowly click into place just as his mother trembles and Master speaks.

“Your mother must die.”

“What! No, she doesn’t need to die! She hasn’t needed to die this entire time, why would this be any different?”

“Your reaction betrays your words, Anakin. Such… love will only tear you away from the Sith, not grant you it’s powers. Your mother must die, if you are to become one.”

“No…. I don’t want to if she has to die for it.” Anakin pants, looking wildly around the room for escape exits, even though he knows there are none. He won’t let Mom die, he can’t. 

“This decision is not up to you, apprentice.” Master states bluntly. “Now, guards! Hold Anakin down, facing Tyranus.”

“No! Nononono-” It takes four droids to hold him down, even in his weakened state, as he struggles. Anakin won’t let this happen, he thinks, even as he’s pinned to the floor and helplessly watching. There’s got to be something that can save her, something-

“Now, Lord Tyranus.”

Anakin can do nothing but watch as a lightsaber impales his mother. He sees her pained scream, sees the way Tyranus drops her disinterestedly, like he just stepped on a bug.

“NOOOOOO!”

Around him, the Force pulses, and he uses it, flinging his captors across the room, destroying them. He pulls Tyranus towards him, choking him, far enough away that the Sith’s lightning doesn’t reach. He sees red, and all around him he screams, as Master is thrown back, he’s going to kill them, kill them all-

“Ani…”

“Mom?” He cries, rushing to her side, vengeance forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Anakin. Just remember,” she whispers, pushing her snippet into napkins hands, “To do what you have to, until you can choose good again.”

Mom’s eyes slide close, and her presence, that has been here forever, has always been with Anakin, goes cold, and silent. He shakes her body, begging her to wake up, but she doesn’t. 

She’s gone.

Behind him, Master cackles. Anakin turns to glare at him, nevermind the punishment. Hate festers in his veins, pulsing. He wants to kill them, kill them all. Tyranus is coughing up blood, trachea probably shattered. The loathing purrs at the sight.

“And now, my apprentice, you finally see.” Master says softly, “The power of hatred. You could kill everyone in this room if you want to. You could kill me. But your mother is dead, and you’ll have nowhere else to turn. You can’t unmake what you are; a Sith.”

Anakin mulls over his words. And he finds… Master is right. The Jedi have already abandoned him, and the way he feels is heady, addictive. He feels strong, even starved and drenched in grief. Master can point at a target, and Anakin can release everything he’s ever felt.

He has nothing else, now.

In small strides, Anakin comes and kneels yet again, before Master’s feet. His brain is on fire, but it feels good, better than anything he’s ever known. Somewhere in him, the kind slave boy from Tatooine starts to die.

“I name you, Darth Vader.” Master grins, feral, like he’s gotten exactly what he’s wanted. “Now rise, my apprentice, and show the world your power.”

Anakin Skywalker falls.

Darth Vader stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that immediately after he stands, Anakin passes out from Force exhaustion + being tortured for weeks
> 
> Anyways, I am very very sorry for what you just had to read. It gets better, I promise.


	4. Old Friends and Astromechs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader isn’t eating. This somehow leads to an identity crisis, but not in the way you’d think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: disordered eating, mentions of past abuse, slavery, war

“He’s refusing to eat, sir.”

The headache that’s been building all day finally swoops in, full force, at Rex’s words. To say things haven’t been going well is an understatement, but this just hands to the slowly growing mountain of bantha shit Obi-Wan calls his new assignment.

From the groans behind him, Padme and Ahsoka are sharing his sentiments. It’s been a week. A week of planning, a week of pouring over past jobs and confirmed kills, a week of convincing the Chancellor not to visit Vader.

And still, the Sith isn’t talking. Apparently he isn’t eating either.

“Did he say why?” Padme sighs out, rubbing her temples.

“No. Didn’t say anything at all, actually. He was just lying there, in the same position he’s been in for three days now.”

Odd. Vader had been strangely subdued since Obi-Wan’s interrogation, and while he’d like to think that Vader’s just weighing his options, something points to a… more sinister conclusion.

They need to get him talking, and fast. These cells can only hold someone of Vader’s power for so long.

“Is it possible he’s- Master, have we ever considered the idea that he’s depressed?”

Everyone whips around to look at Ahsoka, who just raises her eyebrow tattoo in response. “I mean, he just got captured, he thinks he’s going to get killed, he’s probably been tortured at some point or another, and he’s only got his thoughts in there. There’s a good chance our Sith Lord is freaking out.”

That’s… a strangely good point.

“Look, just let me and Rex talk to him. You can watch on the cams the entire time, and we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

“Why you and Rex, Ahsoka?” Padme inquires.

“Rex is a clone, and I’ve left the Order before. He’s more likely to talk to us than a Council Member or some Senator who could’ve been sent to assassinate him. No offense, Padme.”

“None taken.”

“How do you know Vader won’t manipulate you? You read the debrief, this could all be a front.” Obi-Wan argues back. “He knows your weaknesses, and he will try to exploit them.”

“So then let him,” Rex shrugs, “But we have to get him to eat. Vader could be the key to stopping the war, and the killing of my brothers.”

“We’re doing this, Master, whether or not you want us to.” Ahsoka tells him bluntly, “It’s the only solid plan we have. Vader is vulnerable, and if we help him, he could end up trusting us.”

“Padme?” Obi-Wan questions weakly. He already knows her answer by the look on her face.

“I don’t like it either, Obi, but it’s our only shot. We need to keep him alive.”

Looking at their prisoner listlessly glare at the wall, he can’t help but agree.

-

Ahsoka’s palms are sweating. The last time she’d come in contact with Vader, he’d nearly killed both her and Obi-Wan. She doesn’t want a repeat of that. By her side, Artoo gives a curious trill. Padme has insisted he come along in case things got messy. The little mech is practically feral, but he’s good at putting out fires.

Rex is nervous too, that’s clear as day. His fingers flex around empty holsters in an attempt to reach for a blaster that isn’t there. The man they’re about to see has killed hundreds of the vod, and many Jedi. While they’re technically the best options, this still isn’t ideal.

The first thing she notices when she enters the cell is how bare it is. A toilet and sink, a small cot, and a table bolted heavily to the floor are the only objects here. Even the lights are protected, held high in the ceiling and sealed with durasteel. This man is dangerous.

This man is also crumpled on his bed like a small child. Vader obviously senses them, if the full body shiver is anything to go by, but he doesn’t bother moving from his spot. In the corner of the room, a tray of food lays untouched.

The second thing she notices is how sad the Force is. During their descent to the block, there was an ominous feeling, and there was tension, but this isn’t that. This is melancholia in its finest form, so potent that even Rex seems to sense it.

Quietly, Ahsoka raps her knuckles on the durasteel wall. Vader pulls himself up, and it’s like he’s become a different person. Smugness wraps itself around him, an air of sultry overpowering the depression. She knows a mask when she sees it, though.

“What can I do for you, General?” Vader purrs, eyes calculating.

“Why haven’t you been eating?” She inquires, fists clenched. It’d make sense for him to know her rank, but the word feels like molten lava when the Sith says it.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.” 

“Are you trying to starve yourself?”

“Oh, kiddo,” the sadness sneaks in before being swallowed down, “It’d take a lot more than a couple missed meals to starve me.”

Ahsoka nods towards Rex, saying, “Is it that you don’t trust him? Or do you have a prejudice against clones that we didn’t know of?”

“Oh no, no.” Vader smiles, “I like him the most out of your little group. Tell me, how is Master Kenobi? I hope I haven’t done anything to upset him.”

“No. Why don’t you trust us?”

“I don't trust anyone, especially when they’ve got me locked up.” The Sith remarks pointedly.

“Have you been starved before?”

“Yes.”

It’s the delivery of the line that snags something in her. The plainness of it, as though Ahsoka had asked about the weather instead of a serious abuse. The man before her has been broken. She wonders who he was, before the cracks set in.

“I need you to know that we will not, under any circumstances, withhold food from you. We will not refuse you any necessity even if you don’t cooperate.”

“Tell that to your Master.” Vader snorts.

“Pardon?”

“I said, tell that to your Master.” He leans forward, almost leering at her.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your council,” the Sith spits out, “Threatened me when I arrived. I know how you people work. Your promises are just tools to get me to trust you. As soon as you have what you need, you’ll pull the rug from beneath me. Kenobi told me that they need my information, and he told me that you’ll do many things to get it.”

Kriffing hell, Obi-Wan. Rule number one of confronting a possibly abused Sith Lord: don’t threaten possible abuse. Ahsoka knows that right now, her Master is probably being glared at by one very disgruntled Padme Amidala.

“That’s bantha shit,” Rex bites out, unable to hold his tongue any longer, “Everyone knows not to harm a valuable prisoner. Honestly, and they call him the Negotiator. To even entertain the idea is war crime. If I had been the one to-”

“Thank you, Captain Rex, that’ll be enough now.” Ahsoka cuts in before a rant can start, even if she agrees. From his position directly behind her, Artoo beeps angrily.

Vader’s head whips up. Surprise, then grief, then shock once more flits over his features. His hands start to shake.

“Artoo?” He whispers. Artoo, apropos of nothing, rolls up to the trembling Sith Lord and gives an excited flurry of clicks and beeps. It hits her then; Vader’s met Artoo from somewhere.

“You know Artoo?” Ahsoka asks, shocked. Of all the things, Artoo being friends with a Seperatist General was not what she expected.

“Yeah. We knew each other…” the Sith’s eyes unfocus for a moment, “A long time ago.”

They look on, dumbfounded, as Artoo chirps at Vader, seeming to hold a conversation.

“Hi buddy. Yes, I know I haven’t, but what if-”

Beep beep beep. Honestly, Ahsoka wishes she knew binary. It’d make this a lot easier.

“Artoo… things have changed. I can’t- I’m not the same, bud. I can’t trust anyone, let alone a Jedi.”

Another long series of stern-sounding clicks. Something almost sad passes over Vader’s face before he shuts it off yet again.

“She’s dead, Artoo. Mas- it doesn’t matter. She’s gone now.”

Something like a mourning cry comes out of the little astromech. Rex looks at her, confused, but she’s just as perplexed. Who died? And why is Artoo so sad about it? How do they know each other?

It goes on for several minutes, both she and Rex being hushed whenever they try to add to the conversation. At the end of it, Artoo is purring, as a Sith Lord rubs the little droid’s dome affectionately.

“Artoo says I can trust you.”

“That’s kind of him.”

“He says you don’t take away food.”

“We won’t.”

He seems to mull over his next words. “I’ll eat. But you can’t give me what you’re feeding me now.”

“Why?” Is the food that bad? 

“I’ll throw it up. I have to… build up my tolerance, so to speak.”

Next to her, Rex goes pale. “We’ll give you broth, then.”

“Fine. One more condition.”

“What?”

“The droid stays with me.” 

Oh hell no. There’s no way they can give Artoo over to Vader, even if they’re all buddy-buddy. The Sith would most likely use him to escape, and maybe even take out a few Jedi while he was at it.

“... We’ll think about it.”

As they take their leave, astromech trailing reluctantly behind them, Ahsoka hears Vader call out her name.

“General!”

She turns back around, unamused. Vader sits, posture perfect, mask securely back in place. The Force around them hums in amusement.

“Tell Kenobi I said hello.”

-

Anyone who knows Obi-Wan will tell you three things: he’s got a silver tongue, has a renowned control on the Force, and he’s very patient.

Anyone who really knows Obi-Wan will tell you one thing: Obi-Wan Kenobi has many admirable traits, but patience is not actually one of them. In fact, he’s one of the most impulsive and reckless people in the galaxy.

Example 1: the tooka kittens. Back in the good old days when Obi-Wan had escaped a life of farming on Bandomeer by the skin of his teeth and had recently become Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan, they’d been traversing Lothal when a small meeting had caught Obi-Wan’s attention. Four hours and several scratches later, Mismi the kitten had been smuggled to the temple, where she resided for several days until she’d dropped a rat in Qui-Gon’s lap during meditation. 

Example 2: Melida/Daan. One might argue that Obi-Wan made the right decision to say, but nobody would argue that it was a rational one. Cerasi had needed help, and the fact that Qui-Gon hadn’t seen past his arrogance to the greater good didn’t change that fact. So what if that was probably another huge trauma he endured? So what if Qui-Gon left him in a war-torn sector? So what if he still sometimes woke up with Cerasi’s eyes staring at him, lifeless? He was totally over that, totally over his rash decisions.

Anyways…

Example 3: Right now, with Padme and Ahsoka staring at him, mouths open in mock surprise.

“How do you know Vader won’t manipulate you, Ahsoka? How do you know this isn’t all a front?” Ahsoka mimics in a truly terrible version of his accent. Kids these days, so disrespectful.

“He isn’t. Or, he wasn’t. That reaction was real.”

“Just because the reaction was real doesn’t mean we should give my astromech. Which, I’ll remind you, tends to electrocute things.”

“Listen, I know it’s far fetched-”

“That’s an understatement,” Ahsoka grumbles.

“-But he could give information to Artoo that he won’t give to us. Vader knows this droid, and it seems he values his opinion.”

Padme barks out a laugh. “Sure, he might tell the droid, but there’s no way the droid will tell us. Call him many things, but Artoo’s loyal. Besides, it doesn’t change the fact that we can’t let anything in that room that could aid Vader in an escape attempt.”

“Do you think Artoo would let him escape?”

“Do you think Vader would give him a choice?”

“Sir,” a voice says softly, “I don’t think Vader will harm the mech.”

“Why do you think that, Rex?” Padme asks, clearly curious.

“It’s obvious that the droid means something to him. He could’ve hurt us like he did Kenobi, I’d say he was gearing up to, from the way he was twitching, but the droid… it calmed him. And did you notice, he was petting him? Vader likes that droid, enough that he’s agreed to eat because it was concerning Artoo.”

“So you think he won’t hurt him?”

“I don’t think the thought has even crossed his mind. And think, why would he need an astromech? It’s such a blatant escape tool, Vader wouldn’t dare ask for one, it’d be too obvious. He wants the droid because it helps him, in some way we don’t know.” 

“But why? How does a Sith Lord know a random astromech? Especially one belonging to Padme? Nothing about this makes sense!”

Padme’s gone quiet. She has her thinking face on like she’s putting the puzzle pieces together. Obi-Wan is nowhere close to an answer, himself. But Rex is right. Vader doesn’t want Artoo to escape, he wants him for something else. He just doesn’t know what that could be.

“Do you think we should give him Artoo?” Ahsoka asks, exasperated.

“Yes. It’s the only lead we have for Vader, our only definitive connection. If we don’t use it, we don’t get anything. And we only have 23 days left before the Senate swoops in and destroys everything.”

“I agree with Rex,” Obi-Wan continues, “We’ve gotten closer today than we have trying anything else. We can just increase security if we have to. But right now, though I hate to give any credit to the little beast, Artoo’s our only hope.”

“Obi-Wan,” Padme says suddenly, “Can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

“... Of course. Ahsoka, Rex?”

As they file out, Padme begins biting her nails, which she only does when shit is about to hit the fan. Something tells Obi-Wan it already has.

“Obi-Wan,” she starts, “What if- what if Vader is Anakin Skywalker?”

Ice suffuses his veins.

“That’s impossible,” Obi-Wan refutes, shaking, “There’s no way- the Council had put precautions into… it can’t be. No, it’s not him.”

“I don’t know.” Padme replies nervously, “The things they’re saying, that he’s from Tatooine- and now this, Obi. Vader knows Artoo, and Anakin, he gave him to me so he could assist us during the Naboo Crisis, him and C-3P0.”

“It can’t be him, Padme. The Council made sure of it.”

“What exactly did the Council do?”

“They had eyes on the inside monitoring the Skywalkers for months. There’s no way that an abduction escaped their notice.”

“Obi…” Padme trails off, looking rather guilty.

“What?”

“I sent two of my best, back ten years ago, to free the Skywalkers. My agents were told they’d already been freed, but I never heard from them after their last check-in en route to Naboo. I didn’t bother sending another team, I figured that the Skywalkers were free and… I had larger things on my plate.”

“Qui-Gon didn’t free him?!”

“No, he’d planned on doing it once the Crisis was over but…”

Oh kriff. 

But speaking of which...

“Padme, what do you mean when you say you never heard from them again?”

“I mean when they went to confirm that Shmi and Ani were free, they just disappeared. I had that looked into, but nothing ever came of it. And then with the military escalations and then the sets of clone bills- I’m not trying to excuse anything I did, but Obi, don’t you think it’s a little suspicious?”

“That is odd. But it still doesn’t prove anything. Tatooine is a nasty place, maybe they made friends with the wrong people? And besides, the entire point of leaving Skywalker on Tatooine was for the purpose of hiding him. The Order could never be so careless…”

“Obi-Wan, I’m not calling into question the diligence or precaution of your Order, I’m saying that if there’s been a Sith in the Senate, what are the chances he used his power to get Anakin anyway and cover up the fact? And think of Vader’s M count… didn’t Ani have the same number?”

She’s making too much sense. But it can’t be, it has to be false because if it is, that means Obi-Wan has failed. It means that Qui-Gon’s last words were tossed aside like fallen debris, it means the boy he swore to protect fell into the darkest of depths, and it means that under no circumstances will Vader talk to either of them.

It seems as always, Ahsoka is right.

“So what does this mean for his deal?”

“Well,” Padme hums, contemplative, “It means that we have to give him Artoo. Any chance we have of cooperating with a Sith we created, unintentionally or not, is made even slimmer by us denying him his droid. And it means that one of us has to confirm it. It means I have to confirm it.”

“But why you? We both know that I’m more equipped to deal with him.”

“But I didn’t threaten him with bodily harm, did I?” She jabs, glaring. So she’s still mad about that. “And besides…” Padme trails off.

“Besides what?”

“I knew him. If it is Anakin, maybe he’ll respond better to me.”

It’s true. Obi-Wan hates it, hates all of this, but it’s true. If he talks to Vader about his past when he didn’t even fight to keep him away from slavery, from a Sith Lord, then what chance does he have bargaining with him?

“So it’s decided. Vader gets the droid, and you talk to Vader. I’ll try to find everything I can on the Jedi who were stationed on Tatooine.”

Patience isn’t one of Obi-Wan's strengths. But sometimes, he’s good at pretending it is.

-

“We have a lead, Masters.” 

“Interesting, your findings are, hmm? What learned, have you?” Yoda grumbles out in his odd little manner.

“I need to know which Masters were stationed on Tatooine to protect Anakin Skywalker ten years ago.”

“And this is important, why?” Mace inquires, eyebrow cocked.

“Vader was refusing to eat. When General Tano and Captain Rex went to deescalate the situation, they brought Padme Amidala’s astromech, R2-D2 with them. Upon rising tensions, the droid intervened and it was discovered that Vader knew Artoo quite well.”

“I’m still not seeing the relevance.”

“R2-D2 was gifted to Padme Amidala ten years ago by Anakin Skywalker, who was the maker of the droid.”

Obi-Wan sees the moment it hits them. Their faces go dark, then shock swells over their features as they realize what he’s implying. It would almost be funny, had the circumstances not been so dire.

“Think Skywalker, Vader is? Explain.”

So he tells them what Padme had said, how she seemed so convinced that Vader was the boy they abandoned all those years ago. At the mention that both Anakin and Shmi were still enslaved, Mace puts his head in his hands.

“How is Master Jinn still able to give me a headache even beyond the grave?”

“Know this, we did not. Even direr, these times seem, with this theory.” Yoda remarks sadly. The idea that they had left a child into slavery and then Sithood hurts. It hurts, even more, to know that even if Vader isn’t Anakin, they hadn’t freed him.

“I need to know who exactly was tasked with guarding him. If they were killed, when you stopped assigning a protection detail, all of it. I need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Of course, Obi-Wan. Jocasta will have the holos for you in the archives. Make sure that this doesn’t get out. Not to anyone.” Mace orders, face severe.

“Thank you, Masters.” He bows, turns off the holo, and sprints to the archives as fast as possible. Somehow, even in such a short time, Master Nu has what he needs.

“A list of Jedi who were on Tatooine with an assignment.” She sets down a small stack of papers. Rifling through them almost desperately, Obi-Wan begs to every deity he can think of that they’re wrong, that nothing is amiss.

And to his surprise, everything seems to be in order. No deaths, just mundane reports. Skywalker continues to work at the shop, Skywalker still lives at slave quarters despite assumed freedom, and on and on with the boring summaries. Obi-Wan curses as he nicks himself on a paper. Plucking up the perpetrator, sucking his wound, his eyes fall on two names.

It’s under a small period of time. Two of the Order’s best had been sent to Tatooine by request of the Chancellor himself. It was only for two months. It still sends shivers down Obi-Wan’s spine.

Under the reports’ signature lines, printed in perfect calligraphy, are Yan Dooku and Pong Krell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Your comments have watered my crops and buttered my egg rolls.
> 
> Also in this AU, tiny Anakin built both Artoo and Threepio because he deserves more friends.


	5. Vader/Ani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, even the best intentions sow ignorance. Padme and Obi-Wan are beginning to realize this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of abuse, sexual and physical, slavery, yelling

In all honesty, Padme Amidala has no idea what she’s doing.

Not that it’s always been this way. In fact, if you’d asked her just two weeks ago, she’d tell you with certainty that being a Senator is something that she’s very capable of, that she’s good at. That her compassion drives results.

Sure, there’s been some hiccups. And sure, the Senate may feel more corrupt by the minute, and sure, sometimes Padme breaks down in angry tears over the war that never ends, and sure, maybe the hope that’s fed her for years is slowly receding, but Padme is an idealist, and it’s her job to make things better, so she’s more than qualified.

Looking at Vader, curled in a corner and talking incessantly to Artoo, Padme feels like none of these things. She just feels so, so lost, and so, so rotten,

The ghost of Anakin has haunted her for years. Something never felt quite right about how her well trained and weathered men disappeared without a trace. It was like there was a little worm in the back of her brain, wiggling at her to do something. They’d been told Anakin was free, that he’d been protected by the Jedi, and Padme had allowed those thoughts to shield her from feelings of inadequacy, of shame.

They’re paying the price for it now.

As much as Sabe may like to remind her, she can’t help but feel like this is her fault. That’s what she’s always done, assumed guilt in the place of others. Some may call it a strength; Padme knows it to be a weakness. It was not her actions alone that have caused this, it was not her that single-handedly destroyed a little boy, but…

They don’t even know for sure that it’s Anakin. When sleep won’t come, when she tosses and turns in her expensive sheets, Padme reminds herself that Vader could very well be anyone. If the way Threepio has started to fret over her eye bags is any indication, the sentiment does nothing to soothe her,

She’s going to have to talk to him. If it is Anakin, if it is that kind little boy that gave her his most prized creations and his fragile little heart, then maybe he’ll talk to her. Padme cannot let that chance slip through her fingers. 

(Are you an angel?)

Being a Senator to the Galactic Republic has taught her how to speak. It’s taught her how to run on two hours of sleep, how to argue with people who honestly are only there for the prestige and ego-stroking, and it’s taught her how to repress her feelings behind tight lipped smiles and clenched fists.

Padme knows that she can do this. She doesn’t want to, but she can. It’s only gotten more imperative that they speak to Vader, after Obi-Wan came speeding in with the news that two Seperatist Sith Lords once guarded the Chosen One.

“What does this mean, Obi-Wan?” She had asked, looking down at the blood spattered documents thrown down before her, “How could this have happened?”

“It was a huge oversight on the Council’s part.” Obi-Wan had gasped out, having just run to her office for the Temple’s archives. “We know that Krell sympathized with the Separatists, but until Umabara… we had no idea how deep it stemmed.”

Padme shuddered at the very mention of Umbara. The casualties that ranged in the thousands, the clones who had been led there like pigs to the slaughter, how Rex’s hands shake whenever Dogma is brought up. The Senate had eaten the trooper alive, while Krell remained a hero, post mortem burial hiding the ugly cracks beneath the surface.

“And Dooku?” She questioned. 

“We knew Qui-Gon’s death hit him hard. It was clear his time on Nightwatch had… changed him, and not necessarily for the better. I think that this was the Council’s attempt to get him to stay. But, by that time, Dooku had probably already fallen. He and Krell would have gladly turned a blind eye to something they believed to be a boon for the Seperatist cause.”

They had sat there for a long time. Anything could have happened in that time frame, anything at all. And since they were still Jedi, since both had recommended removal of protection services, they were the last to know Anakin Skywalker’s true location. The thought was harrowing.

At least he’s eating again. Ahsoka had been hesitant to deliver the droid to Vader, but she’d been outnumbered, and besides, Artoo was practically purring when he was handed over. The Sith had only sat on the floor and opened his arms, holding the astromech for hours.

Ahsoka can’t even claim to be impartial anymore, anyways. Padme has seen Ahsoka slipping Vader candies on his evening tray. When she asks Rex about it, he tells her that she must be imagining things.

She smooths back her braided hair. The style today had been particularly simple, since no metal objects, even hairpins, were allowed into the cell. When she pointed out that Artoo was metal, and far more dangerous than a hairpin, all she got in return was a glare and a lecture on safety precautions.

So she stands, a former Queen and Senator of Naboo, in a dress lighter than any she can remember wearing, with nothing but a simple braid bun and dewy lips. It creates the illusion of meekness, Padme supposes. Her usual attire feels like armor, hard lines she can wrap herself around instead of the soft edged approach. She doubts Vader will appreciate the effort.

All Padme needs now is for Obi-Wan to arrive. He’s in a call with the Council, detailing their plans. She doesn’t want to confront Vader’s identity without him. Goddess knows this can go south at any moment. It seems all anything does these days is go south.

Padme waits in the security office, looking at a ghost, and waiting for another to arrive.

-

In all honesty, Obi-Wan Kenobi wants to scream.

He nearly had, when he found the names of the people the Order left Anakin to. He wanted to, it practically poured out of his mouth, but all of the years he’s trained as Jedi held his vocal cords immobile.

What would Qui-Gon do? It’s a question Obi-Wan has asked more times than he’d care to admit. As he thinks of his mentor, he can’t help but feel that this is all his fault? How could he leave a child to slavery like that?

(How could Obi-Wan?)

How could he dare believe that Obi-Wan would be capable of raising a child? He shouldn’t have died, hare dare he die. Qui-Gon seemed to be adept at leaving others to clean up his messes, but this…

It’s Obi-Wan’s fault, really. He had left that child, called him a gutter rat, and he, in all of his pompous and arrogant glory, had seen nothing wrong with it. Maybe he could blame it on the bitter shell that seemed to finally crack open as his Master regained story upon story of a Tatooine boy with a grasp of the Force previously unheard of.

Maybe he could blame it on the fact that, for once, he wanted to be chosen. Last Padawan to be picked, and cast aside at the slightest mention of a better opportunity. Obi-Wan is wracked with embarrassment at the very thought. He was jealous of a slave boy, who knew nothing but violence.

Maybe he should just blame it on himself. It’s his go-to, after all. His apathy has led to this mess. Obi-Wan was supposed to protect Anakin, not leave him to slavery. He took his Master’s dying wish and he spat on it.

His full report to the Council seemed to only exacerbate these emotions.

“Foresee this, we did not,” Yoda remarked sadly, “Paid for it, Skywalker might have.”

“How could we leave him there?” Plo Koon croaked, “I voted for him not be trained under the assumption he’d be taken out of that awful planet.”

“I don’t understand…” Fisto then, guilt evident, “We left him to slavery? And with two Sith sympathisers, no less.”

“We didn’t know.” Mace Windu replied weakly.

“But we should have.” Depa Billaba whispered. The room was so quiet that even at such a low volume, everyone could hear it.

She was right, and from everyone’s expressions, they knew it.

After the meeting had adjourned, members exiting with somber faces and some with glistening eyes, Obi-Wan had stumbled to his quarters and broken down. It was unfair, all of it. The Jedi weren’t meant for this, for this tearing at the seams, for this positioning of warriors, and yet it seemed that they had failed to prevent their own downfall.

Vader could be anyone. But the fact that there’s a chance of him being Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, the fact that Obi-Wan had let petty jealousy and grief get in the way of his duty, it makes him weep.

He has to get to Padme. She’s going to interrogate the Sith, attempt to bridge a connection, although how Obi-Wan has no clue. He descends the levels of his home, breaking out in a sweat, preparing for the worst.

-

“Do you know what this is?”

Obi-Wan watches from his feed as Padme passes over a small trinket, tied together with a worn string. Even from the crystal-clear camera view, it’s still hard to make out small swirling markings, carved into the wood.

Vader, who’s curled in the corner with Artoo, barely looks at the object before sliding it back over. “Japor snippet.”

“Indeed. A friend of mine gave it to me, a long time ago. When you came here, you had a couple of your own. Who were they from?”

“My mother,” the Sith says dully. Artoo gives another mournful beep, shoving his dome into Vader’s hands in a soothing gesture. The little droid has been good for him, calming him down from fits of rage and infrequent mood swings. Vader hasn’t made any attempt to hurt or escape with Artoo, yet. All he does is pet the droid and blabber on in binary about this or that.

Obi-Wan refuses to think of it as endearing.

“That’s nice. My friend who gave it to me, lived on Tatooine. Did you live there?”

“If you could call it living.”

At this, Vader rakes his eyes up and down Padme’s form, calculating. It’s not unlike a predator toying with its food. Padme holds strong against his gaze, before Vader breaks eye contact.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You’re trying to prove a theory. You want to know who I am, and why I know your droid.”

Padme freezes at the spot-on prediction. Obi-Wan feels Eire trickle down his spine. Moments pass, before Vader breaks into a giggle.

“It’s not like you weren’t being obvious about it. Honestly, Senator, I don’t see why you even bothered coming here. I despise people like you, so there's no way I’m going to play your little game.”

“And what if you already are?” Padme inquires, eyes hard even with the mask of politeness on the surface.

“Maybe I am. But you can be certain you won’t win.”

“Why is that, Vader?” Padme stands, beginning to pace across the floor of the cell, Artoo chirping nervously, “As far as I’m concerned, I can walk out of this cell anytime I wish. I haven’t aligned my views with the Separatists, or killed any Jedi. I think you’re in no position to say I’m not winning.”

“I didn’t have a choice in doing those things.” Vader snarls, “And besides, Senator holier-than-thou, you and your Senate were perfectly autonomous when you created slaves for you to kill in battle. Don’t pretend your Republic is any better than the CIS.”

“I never condoned the Clone Creation Act.” She huffs, continuing to stride around the cramped room.

“But you went along with it. You had a left Representative easily persuaded to vote in your stead. How is that not condoning, exactly?”

“I have fought tooth and nail for this war and the poor treatment of clones to end, Vader. All you’ve done is perpetuate it.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Vader growls out again, “What do you think would happen to me if I didn’t comply?”

“So you were tortured?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The Sith closes his eyes at this. His hands begin to tremble, and Artoo beeps incessantly until he replies with a negative. They really need to get a binary interpreter.

“What happened to you, Vader? We could help, you know. This Master of yours… he isn’t all powerful-”

“You have no idea.”

“-And if you give us information, we can help. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“Stop acting like you care.” Vader mutters, sliding down the wall until he slumps, faced away from Padme.

“I do care.”

“No you don’t. You only care when it’s convenient to you.”

“Are you talking about my Senate bills? Or is this something more?”

The Sith seems to realize his slip up. He freezes in his trembling, taking deep breaths as though pushing something down. Obi-Wan is familiar with that type of breath.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, I don’t think I will. Do you not trust me? It’s understandable. I’m a member of the Senate, and I’ve been told there’s a Sith there. I know your Master is nearby, otherwise you wouldn’t be so afraid. You think he’ll try to kill you.”

“He doesn’t want to kill me. He wants me back.” 

That’s… interesting. It explains why no assassination atttempts have been made. It’s also a shift from the Vader of a few days ago. He’s figured something out, Obi-Wan realizes. Vader isn’t expendable, and that upsets him. He truly doesn’t want to go back.

“Okay. So why do you not want to come back to him? Was he hurting you?”

“I think we already established that hurt doesn’t begin to cover it. And I made a choice. I can’t do this anymore. But I don’t want to help you either. As far as I’m concerned, you can all rot.”

So he defected. Vader doesn’t want to be a Sith.

“My friend, who gave me this snippet,” Padme tells him, shifting gears, “I told him I’d try to make things better where he lived. I’m trying to keep that promise, but this war… it’s killing us. We need your help, if we’re going to make things any better for people like my friend. Like his friends.”

“Your friend was a fool, and he’s dead.” Vader calls out hollowly. “You say you want to help, and yet you don’t even know that he’s already gone.”

“How do you know this?” Padme breathes out. She’s getting close, closer than anyone has gotten.

“I killed him.”

What?

No, Vader couldn’t have… there’s something they’re missing here.

“How did he die?” Padme shifts to sit across from the Sith. She hides her school well, but it’s clear that Vader can sense it. At his command, Artoo moves to the far end of the cell, trilling belligerently.

“He died on his knees. It was the final test. Master had me destroy him, to prove my allegiance.”

The Sith trials. Vader… he’s trying to tell them something. Straining his mind, Obi-Wan tries to think back what the Sith trials entail. There’s a lot of endurance testing that he knows for sure. They have to… they have to…

“I didn’t want to.” He repeats. “I didn’t want to, but there was nothing left for me. Master took it all away.”

“Then why can’t you tell us? Why can’t you let us avenge my friend?”

“I hate you, you and your stupid Jedi. I- they promised they would help, and they didn’t, so why should I help them. I was unmade because of you.”

“I’m sorry you had that happen to you.” Padme whispers, 

“Stop saying that.”

“I’m not going to. I’m sorry that happened-“

“Stop. It.”

“-And I’m sorry for what part I played in it-“

“St- stop.”

“And I want to help.” At these words, Vader finally cracks.

“STOP PRETENDING! I KNOW YOU DON’T CARE, MASTER SAID YOU DIDN’T, SO STOP KRIFFING PRETENDING!”

“I do care Vader, I do, I promise-”

“No you don’t! All you do is lie and steal and take advantage of me, and now you want me to save you, when I couldn’t even save her! I trusted you, all of you, and you, you…”

Vader seems to crumple in on himself, Force ringing with anger and self loathing. The audio feed can pick up on his sobbing.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-”

“But why?” Padme asks desperately, “Why do you hate us? Please, Vader, tell me!”

“BECAUSE YOU LEFT HER!”

“Who did we leave?” Padme crawls to him, hair coming undone.

“My mother. You left her, and now… now she’s…” Vader let’s put another wail, walls shaking with pain. Objects are levitating around the room, and even as Artoo rushes towards the Sith, nothing can calm him down.

“You think you can come here and prey on a little crush? You think that I’m still that stupid? Oh no, Senator, I’ve learned my lesson, so how dare you, how dare you pretend to give a kriff about me after all you’ve done, after you left us, after you left her-”

“I don’t know who your mother is, Vader. I don’t know who you are.”

“Yes you do.” Vader whimpers.

And it’s in that moment that Obi-Wan remembers. At the end of the Sith trials, a Sith Lord is given a new name. The reason for this, the reason many Sith are unrecognizable after their anointments, is because they destroy every connection their former self had. They kill the person they were, in order to fully harness the dark side.

“Ani…” Padme whispers, and the small lump twitches.

“Hello Padme.”

-

In his plush room lined with reds and golds, Darth Sidious twitches into awareness. The Force has been off, to say the least, ever since his insolent little apprentice went rogue. It had been a simple mission; eliminate Rush Clovis, and the boy had, but then he had done the impossible:

Darth Vader had defected.

The brat he had weaned for years, the child he had carefully molded into his perfect little slave, had defected, and with him he carried everything necessary to defeat Sidious. It had been foolish to give Vader his true identity, but the thought of his marvel abandoning everything Sidious created was preposterous.

The boy had been perfect, everything he needed. He was dark, powerful, and most importantly, obedient. He bent to every command, even the ones that would have him rent out his own body, starve himself, have him beaten, like an abused akk puppy.

But still, the little whore was too valuable to be killed. Even with Tyranus grumbling in his ear, Sidious couldn’t bear to rid of his finest creation. Oh, rest assured, Vader’s punishment would be severe, but to kill him now would be a waste of good product. And besides, it wasn’t like Vader would tell anything to the people Sidious fed him poison against.

For the second time in his life, he’s proved wrong.

A cosmic shift in the Force, reverberating around him. He scrambles out of his covers, over the pounding in his ears. He’s lucky that Kenobi hasn’t changed one bit. The fool will feed directly from his hands, all he needs to do is ask.

Vader cannot be compromised. Sidious has risked too much for him to throw it all away without a single thought. As he reaches for his com link, desperately clawing at the tatters of his and Vader’s training bond, he feels something… odd in his chest. A sensation he’s never felt before.

“Kenobi here,” comes an exhausted voice.

“Ah, General Kenobi,” Sidious speaks in his Palpatine voice, “I thought it wise to check in with you about our situation. I’m sorry for the time.”

“It’s alright, Chancellor,” the voice mutters, and oh, Sidious delighted in how blind they all were, “We just had a rather large breakthrough. I’m afraid that’s all I can disclose.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for the update, my friend.” He turns off the link. A breakthrough; that could mean anything, anything at all.

It hits him then: Vader has told them something. 

The feeling rises up again, and this time, Sidious recognizes it as fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Micheal Scott Voice*: Oh how the turntables
> 
> Honestly folks, you’re saving my ass with these word corrections. Autocorrect will be the death of me, I swear.

**Author's Note:**

> Get in loser, we’re going to make a slow burn enemies to lovers au.


End file.
